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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865778">You Used To Taste So Sweet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228'>Aylwyyn228</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>There was something taking care of me and you [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Only a tiny bit of angst, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews, ish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:35:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d been running together for comin’ up to a year, and already Hosea couldn’t quite imagine goin’ back to travellin’ alone. Dutch had burst into his life fully and completely, worming and sidling his way into every moment, and nearly every thought. </p><p>Hosea felt now that his life was divided. There was everything before, grey and desperate and scrapin’ around for enough money to last the week, and then there was Dutch. </p><p>Hosea couldn’t explain it. Or rather, he didn’t want to…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>There was something taking care of me and you [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Used To Taste So Sweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to the wonderful,<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexFlex">AlexFlex</a>, for betaing!!! This fic was a thousand times better after you'd finished with it! Any errors are, of course, mine!</p><p>This is also partially inspired by a couple of bits of art by <a href="https://the-curious-couple-fanart.tumblr.com/">Selene-Yoshi-Chan</a>, <a href="https://the-curious-couple-fanart.tumblr.com/post/626906968461852672/its-lucky-that-you-are-still-young-to-learn">here</a> and <a href="https://the-curious-couple-fanart.tumblr.com/post/628092121040191488/young-and-sillydont-do-something-that-you-would">here</a> Go and show them some love!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Dutch was in a good mood. An excellent mood, in fact. He wasn’t a subtle man at the best of times, and now, watching him exaggeratedly reenact the highlights of their last little scam, Hosea couldn’t help the warmth that seemed to swell up through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been running together for comin’ up to a year, and already Hosea couldn’t quite imagine goin’ back to travellin’ alone. Dutch had burst into his life fully and completely, worming and sidling his way into every moment, and nearly every thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea felt now that his life was divided. There was everything before, grey and desperate and scrapin’ around for enough money to last the week, and then there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dutch</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea couldn’t explain it. Or rather, he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been long enough on the outskirts of respectable, couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t wanted somewhere for one damn thing or another. The wide plains of the west had long been a place where outcasts and exiles could find each other. Hell, he’d started out travellin’ with the shows, and the troupers’ circuit was a haven of debauchery that’d make a whore run for the priest!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was not, as it were, an ingenue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew, though Dutch was discreet, that he’d had no shortage of bedmates. He knew that not all of them could fall into the category of Southern </span>
  <em>
    <span>belles</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way Dutch would look at him sometimes across his bottle of bourbon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea knew all of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also knew that there was only heartache at the end of that road, so he preferred not to dwell too long on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had nearly a hundred dollars in their pockets, enough to see them home and dry for some weeks. They had the glow of the settin’ sun over the plains. They had the heat rising up from the dust, hot food and good drink in their bellies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, well, Hosea guessed he was in a pretty good mood himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What we need," Dutch said, overloudly, having come to the end of his ‘and-then-you-said!’s, launched himself up from the ground, and came perilously close to dropping the bottle of gin in his hand, "is music!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea smiled. "I don't much fancy heading back into the saloon about now, I'm sorry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" Dutch shouted, sounding pleased as punch. "That wouldn't be… it would be…” He thought for a moment, evidently trying to find an appropriate word, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>ill-advised,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" he finished finally, with too much emphasis on the syllables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea laughed. "It surely would." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Given they’d swindled at least half the patrons, Hosea wasn’t keen to head back on into that town any time in the next century. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But me 'n' you," Dutch swaggered over to him, and leaned over conspiratorially, "we don't need a saloon." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea grabbed the bottle out of his hand and took a swig. He was beginning to feel pleasantly rumpled himself. "Not for drinkin', we don't."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" Dutch shouted again. "Not for anything! We don't need no one! We're," he leapt backwards, arms spread wide. "I'll be music!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea finished off the bottle. "Well, unless you're keepin' a pianoforte in your longjohns, we're shit out of luck."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch ignored him. “C’mon!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started humming, swaying uncoordinatedly, and looking decidedly ridiculous. Hosea couldn’t help but laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon!” Dutch said again, and held out his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea smiled and let himself be tugged up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea recognised the tune Dutch was humming, vaguely. Couldn’t place the name though. And he didn’t have much time to think on it as Dutch steered him into an off kilter polka. One with much stamping and spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea could barely dance for laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let himself be dragged into an overly enthusiastic sidestep that had Dutch struggling for breath as he tried to keep the tune and dance all at the same time. And then Dutch stumbled over himself, and had to make a grab for Hosea’s waist in an effort to keep his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dragged him close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest was pressed against Dutch’s. Their hands still clasped tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch was laughing, light and free and deep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound suddenly died on Dutch’s tongue, and he was close, real close. Hosea could feel the breath against his cheek. Could feel the press of Dutch’s skin against his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a little light headed. Like he hadn’t since he was a goddamn youth, sneaking out with Lottie O’Beard behind the timber store. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch’s lips were close too. All he’d need to do was incline his head a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could imagine, just for a second, what the press of Dutch against him would feel like. The faint taste of gin. Warmth, and then heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch’s hand tightened on his waist… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea stepped back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt cold in place of all that promised heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch’s face fell. His hands were still outstretched in air, and he quickly dropped them. “I’m sorry. I thought-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were right,” Hosea said quickly. “But it would… mean something to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Dutch said, and pressed forwards again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea stepped back completely this time. Well out of Dutch’s space. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch stopped dead, sobered instantly, and what Hosea wouldn’t give to put the joy back on his face. “I don’t understand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he didn’t. Dutch always got what he wanted. Always. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That Hosea would refuse him had likely never entered his head, if he was up to thinkin’ at all at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea smiled, knew it had a rueful edge to it. “I know how you treat your lovers. Like they really were dance partners, and...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Dutch’s usually fine words clearly failed him. There wasn’t an answer because it was true, because it would always be true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch was Dutch, and he… he was never happy if he didn’t have a lover, and he could never keep a lover more than a month. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would end, and it would end hard, and Hosea… Hosea couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled again, and tried to force the misery out of his chest. He clapped Dutch’s arm. Tried to recapture some of the camaraderie that had twisted somewhere along the line into something else. “Go on now. You’ve had too much to drink, is all. Sleep it off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch glanced back to where he’d pitched his tent, still wordless, and then back to Hosea. It wasn’t a question, or an invitation, not in the slightest, but Hosea could sense Dutch’s reluctance. Reluctance to leave all of this hanging. To leave all this between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And this was where the foolish hope settled into Hosea’s heart. Reluctance, maybe, to leave Hosea alone, when he might be hurting? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea forced that smile again, wished again that he could go back and not have thought the things he thought, or felt the things he felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too late for that now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea shook his head against all of Dutch’s hesitation. “Go on to bed. It’s a warm night, you know I like to stargaze when it’s clear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed Dutch’s arm tight, and then released him. Dismissed him, in all but words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, steppin’ backwards like he could draw this out long enough to change Hosea’s mind, “don’t stay up too long. It’s hell tryin’ to wake you in the mornings as it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea smiled again. It was true enough. “Conmen don’t work in the mornin’, the light shines too bright on our lies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch laughed politely, but that worried look was still etched across his face, so Hosea guessed the starlight was doin’ a fair job of lightin’ him up right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Predictably, Hosea didn’t sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night was clear, as he’d thought it would be. The air pleasantly warm against his skin, after the heat of the day. He had laid out his bedroll on a comfortably flat patch of earth, and he’d drunk his fill of good gin, and still Hosea could. not. sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grunted and rolled onto his side, tucked his face into the crook of his arm, and tried any damn thing just to stop thinkin’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was foolhardy, that’s what it was. Ridiculous. He was thirty fuckin’ five years old, and far too old to be breaking his heart over Dutch goddamn van der Linde. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wouldn’t be so bad if he could just put his hand on himself and get it out of his system, or just take the opportunity to let Dutch do whatever he was planning on and put it behind them both, move past it. But in all honesty, he wasn’t that kind of man… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hadn’t ever been that kind of man, as far as he could tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch could get himself hot over someone and drive himself to distraction with all that want, but once the hare had been caught, he’d lose interest, be on to the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quick fumble, and a roll in the hay might cure Dutch’s itch, but it sure as shit wouldn’t douse the warmth in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled over again, and threw his arm over his head, watching the stars once more. The sky was beginning to lighten over in the east, turning the deep black to dark blue. It was as cool as it was goin’ to get, and the air still felt sticky. Like it was pressing in too tight on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was too far gone, and that was a fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ache in his heart was only growing stronger, and it was that goddamn ache that stopped him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goddamn it, and goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dutch</span>
  </em>
  <span>! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Dutch with anyone else already set a fire goin’ in his gut, and that was just the whores in the saloons. If Dutch took a woman on the regular, or a fella for that matter, well, Hosea just knew it’d eat him up inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew, already knew that he wouldn’t be able to claw himself free. No matter what. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch would call, and he would follow. He was caught, sure as if he had a noose around him. Doomed to eat himself up, hangin’ on Dutch’s rope. He wasn’t even bitter about it. Would do it willingly. Gladly. Inevitably… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea felt some of the weight lift off of him with that realisation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was inevitable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart and soul had twined itself to this goddamn haughty, arrogant son of a bitch without his say so at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving in, giving himself up, couldn’t ignite a fire that was already smouldering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would hurt and ache and burn whoever Dutch took to bed, so what good was he doin’, save denyin’ them both a moment of happiness. Hell, there might already be bountymen on their trail. They might be dead in the dust by sunset. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either it’d hurt later, or he’d be long dead before it could, and he would have denied them both for no damn thing at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved Dutch. He had loved him yesterday, and he would love him tomorrow and on and on, until they were both cold in their graves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made no difference who was in Dutch’s bed. Hosea didn’t need </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him. Wasn’t sure he wanted all of him in all honesty. To have to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Dutch sounded exhausting.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was space, perhaps, for nuance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea was already moving. A sudden sense in him that there was no time. No time at all. He was barely ten feet from where Dutch had pitched his tent, and he hadn’t given himself any time to think before he pulled back the canvas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch sat up instantly. It was on the tip of Hosea’s tongue to apologise for startling him, before he took in his posture, and his expression. Dutch hadn’t been asleep, hadn’t even been surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been waitin’ on Hosea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth was open, like he’d been planning on sayin’ something, but whatever it was didn’t materialise on his breath. He swallowed, instead. “Don’t leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Hosea didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Never.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea ducked under the canvas. The tent was big enough for two, but only just barely. Hosea had his own, packed up on his horse, but he only ever used it when the weather turned. They had never shared. Before, it would have passed the boundaries of intimacy, and even now, it was tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea had to practically crawl over Dutch’s body to get under cover, and Dutch for his part, didn’t move an inch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air in here was even stickier than outside, Dutch’s sweat and breath hanging in the air. It was a good feeling, Hosea thought. It had been a long time since he’d felt the thrum of heat off another body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he stopped, he was kneeling, pressed up right against Dutch’s thigh. So close that he could see the way Dutch’s chest was rising and falling beneath his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing has to change,” Dutch said, quietly. “I won’t… It’s fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s already changed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch made a mournful sound. One that said he hadn’t quite caught Hosea’s meaning, that he thought perhaps he had already ruined everything, and Hosea didn’t have much more energy for explaining. He lifted a hand to cup Dutch’s jaw, to draw them together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Dutch caught his wrist, pulled back. He searched Hosea’s face for a moment. “I won't be true,” Dutch warned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Hosea said. “Will you expect me to be?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would be hard, he thought. Dutch’s infidelity, he could deal with. He wasn’t quite sure that he could accept Dutch’s hypocrisy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Dutch just shook his head, easily. “No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea nodded and saw that they understood each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch released his wrist, and finally, finally let Hosea touch him. His palm touched softly against Dutch’s cheek, slightly rough from a couple of days without shaving. The contact wasn’t new. They’d slung arms around each other before. Hell, he’d near on carried Dutch once, limp and damn near insensible after a rifle butt to the temple. But this, this felt like more. Altogether more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea let the moment hang there for a minute, just feelin’ it, feelin’ how long he’d wanted it, and then he pressed forward. Focused all his world on those two precious points of contact. His palm and his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment stretched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch drew back, and Hosea felt him breathe. When he opened his eyes, Dutch was looking at him. “Lord,” he said, voice goin’ strained, “you know how pretty you are?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea was sure it’d been a long time since he could’ve been considered pretty, but he appreciated the sentiment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea kissed him again. “Don’t need all the sweet words, Dutch. Y’already won me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch was breathing hard. His hand came up to cup Hosea’s wrist again, not holding him away this time. Their eyes met, and Christ, Hosea might burn all up if Dutch kept lookin’ at him like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch dropped his wrist abruptly, started pawin’ at his shirt. “Off,” his voice cracked. “Take it off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch was already stripping out of his own, and Hosea didn’t need tellin’ twice. Swore as the cotton clung and caught on his sweat-slick skin before he could shed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch murmured something under his breath. His shaking hand went to his belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch was beautiful himself in the faint light. Hosea had seen him without his shirt before of course, but in the close quarters, with his broad chest and his skin glistening, the soft curve of his stomach… Hosea had never wanted to get his mouth on someone so bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was awkward in the close press of the canvas, still knelt facing each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quickly followed Dutch in droppin his hand to his waistband, gettin’ a hand on himself. He knew already that they were too worked up to take it slow. To work out the logistics. It was too long in comin’ and too late into the night, but it didn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d meant it when he’d said ‘never’. They had weeks and months and years of long nights to explore each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he wanted now was to breathe Dutch’s air.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Dutch swore again, sounding as impatient as Hosea felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He curled his free hand into the back of Hosea’s hair, dragging him close until their brows were pressed together. Hosea found that he was grippin’ Dutch’s shoulder, fingertips clawing white marks into the muscle, and all he could see was Dutch and all he could feel was his hand on his own prick, Dutch’s hand pullin’ at his hair, and the heat off Dutch’s skin and Dutch… and Dutch… and Dutch… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch’s mouth dropped open and his breaths came in fast and gaspin’ and Hosea could only follow him. He felt himself build and tip, tip right over the edge. He felt himself fall and catch himself against Dutch’s chest, arms wrapped around the breadth of his back, face pressed into the damp skin of his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch’s hand still curled into the back of his hair but softer now. Nails and strong fingers just holdin’ him, and Hosea felt warm in an altogether different way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hosea finally sat up, away from Dutch when he got his breathin’ under control. The sweat was dryin’ prickly on his skin, the air inside the canvas so humid that it was hard to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dutch was flushed. The skin on his cheeks tinged pink, still glistening. He looked… fragile. Carved out. It made something protective, something possessive rise up in Hosea’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew, knew in that moment, Dutch hadn’t just caught him in his noose, he had Dutch too. All bound up and bound close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever else… Whoever else… They were entwined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t need all of Dutch, but he did need him forever. The line that bound them would stretch and strain, but it would remain, and draw them close. It was made of somethin’ more than their bodies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was made of soulstuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t leave,” Dutch said, still breathless. Still looking at him with the same look, and Hosea decided in that moment, that he didn’t give a shit who else got Dutch hot. As long as he still looked at Hosea that same way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Hosea said again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he meant it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t ever gonna leave Dutch. They’d have to fuckin’ shoot him first.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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